Say It's Not Fake

“It’s beautiful. I love all the Magnolia trees.” I gazed up at the waxy leaves and huge white flowers.

“They’re a bitch to clean up in the fall, though.” Kyle took a sip of his beer. He was silent for a few minutes before speaking again. “I really liked having your help this evening with Katie. It felt like what a family should be.” He took another drink, looking thoughtful. I didn’t rush to speak; it seemed he had things he wanted to say. “When Josie told me she was pregnant, I freaked out.”

“That’s an understandable reaction,” I told him.

He continued to look out at the trees and flowers. “We hadn’t been together for months. We had sex one time after we broke up. It was that one time that led to Katie.” He drew in a deep breath. “I didn’t want to be a dad. I’m ashamed to say I hoped that Josie would get an abortion. We weren’t together, and it was obvious Josie hoped having a kid would mean I would take her back. I didn’t want a child being used as a reason to stay together.”

“Do you think she got pregnant to trap you?” I felt myself go stiff. Not because I didn’t believe Josie was capable of it, but I remembered all too well being accused of that myself. The bitter anger still resonated inside me after all this time.

“I think Josie hoped I’d want to play happy family with her. I think it was an accident, but one she was willing to capitalize on.” His lips pulled down, and his face darkened. “When I made it clear that wasn’t going to happen, she didn’t take it well, but after a while, she seemed to accept it, and we tried to at least remain friends. After all, we were going to be co-parenting together.”

“That was very mature of the two of you,” I conceded.

“I stupidly had her move in here with me toward the end of her pregnancy. By that point, I had invested in being a dad and wanted to be around my kid all the time. Not just weekends and holidays. Josie understood that. She wanted me involved in every way possible. We were a team.”

“What changed?” I asked him softly. He seemed to need to get this off his chest. It appeared to weigh heavily on him.

“After Katie was born, Josie was diagnosed with postpartum depression. It was pretty bad too. Most days, she wouldn’t get out of bed. Katie would cry in her crib, and Josie wouldn’t do anything. It got to a point where I couldn’t leave her alone with Katie because I didn’t trust her not to do something in my absence.”

I gasped. “That’s awful, Kyle. I can’t imagine what you went through.”

“I tried to get her help, but she was resistant. This went on for months. I was a single dad from the very beginning. But I didn’t want to push Josie. My mom tried to help her out as much as she could because Josie’s mom was in Florida, and they had a shitty relationship anyway.” He took another long drink from his beer, putting the bottle down with a clang on the glass-topped table. “Then, one day I came home from work with Katie, and Josie was gone. All her clothes, everything. I tried calling her, but her phone was off. It stayed off for two weeks, and then she finally called me saying she had gone to Florida to stay with her mother. She said she wasn’t cut out to be a mom. That we were better off without her here.”

“Jesus,” I breathed, not knowing what to say.

“I tried to talk her into coming home. I hate to say that I even promised we’d be together if she came back, knowing how badly she wanted us to be a couple again. But even that didn’t work. She hated the idea of being Katie’s mother much more than she wanted to be my partner.” His hands balled into fists in his lap. “And now she decides she wants Katie after all. Like she’s a fucking couch or a pair of boots that she was iffy on, but now thinks will look great. I hate her, Whit. I really, really hate her. And I shouldn’t. Because she’s Katie’s mother, and I don’t want to have those kinds of negative feelings for the person who gave me my daughter. But God, it’s hard not to be consumed by it.”

He looked so destroyed. So tired and overwhelmed. I wanted to put my arms around him. I wanted to kiss and hold him and make this better for him. But I wasn’t sure I should. So, I offered him the only thing I could. Empathy.

“I understand that kind of hatred. It makes you think ugly thoughts. It can make you ugly, too, if you let it.” Speaking the words aloud was difficult, but needed.